The dojo in the mansion was tucked away among blooming cherry trees, like a well-kept secret from a past that refused to fade. It was spacious, crafted from polished ancient wooden planks, with translucent paper walls that let sunlight filter through softly and the sound of birds chirping outside. The floor was smooth, clean, and smelled of pine and sweat—the good kind of sweat, the kind that came with discipline, effort, and maybe some epic muscle aches the next day.
Kazuya stepped into the center of the tatami with slow but resolute steps. He wore simple training clothes, and the silence of the place seemed to amplify every sound—the beat of his heart, the crack of his joints as he stretched his arms, the breathing that began to slow as his mind focused.
He took a deep breath and then moved.
His feet glided in a smooth, firm pattern, his body assuming a curious, elegant, yet aggressive stance. It was a stylized boxing, something reminiscent of Karna… or rather, Karna Santa, because yes, apparently even Indian demigods had Christmas spirit in the gacha.
"Tch…" Scáthach raised an eyebrow with that typical "this is going to be interesting" look.
She stood facing him, arms crossed, without her iconic Gáe Bolg. It wasn't out of kindness—it was just training, after all—but there was a glint in her eyes that said, "I'll finish you in three moves, max."
But there was something… strange.
Scáthach was a legendary warrior. Queen of the Land of Shadows. Mentor to heroes and gods. She could sense a person's magical aura before they even knew they had magic.
But Kazuya?
Nothing. And yet, he could sustain all those Servants with magical energy like a walking nuclear reactor.
*That doesn't make sense,* she thought. But that was Kazuya. He never did.
In his past life, he wasn't the strongest. Nor the smartest. He was average as a mage and only decent as a fighter. Compared to her other disciples, he'd barely stand out. But even so…
Even so, she chose him.
Scáthach remembered the first time she saw him.
She had lived so long… seen so much… that she began to crave death like someone who'd memorized every line of a play performed too many times. Until he appeared, an ordinary boy with eyes too determined for someone so fragile. A human who wanted to save the world, even knowing he might not succeed. And that piqued her curiosity. He wasn't special… but he did everything to become so. Over time, every gesture of his captivated her more. He smiled even when all was lost. Offered help even without strength. Tried again even after failing ten times.
And she… she began to see him differently.
She grew curious. How far could he go?
That's why she accepted him as a disciple.
And, over time, she fell in love. With every gesture. Every word. Every mistake. She lied to him. Said the training was over just to keep him. As she had done with some disciples before… But with Kazuya, it was different. The relationship evolved. He became more than a student. More than a lover.
He became the husband she never thought she'd have.
And then… he died, saving humanity once again, bringing pride to her as both his teacher and wife, watching her husband achieve everything he wanted.
And now he was back, standing before her eyes, with a supernaturally beautiful body she wanted to test in more ways than one. A small smile crept onto her face, the kind you give before shattering someone's expectations… or their bones.
"Ready, Kazuya?"
He took another deep breath, and his eyes gleamed.
"Always have been."
When Kazuya said "always have been," what he really meant was: *please don't wreck me right off the bat.*
But, well… too late.
Scáthach advanced like a shadow drawn by a blade. Fast, precise, with a glint in her eyes that said: *You'll regret being reborn, my love.*
Kazuya's brain screamed to run, but his body was already moving. His feet slid with precision across the polished tatami, the air vibrating around him. Time seemed to slow, a direct effect of a certain skill acquired from his Fate Gacha. *Foot Saint: A*—courtesy of Karna Santa, because of course, even Indian demigods had Christmas spirit when it came to gacha.
His movements were fluid, almost a dance. Each step adjusted the perfect distance to dodge a blow or launch a counterattack, as if he'd rehearsed it for years. But there was another secret behind it. Something that made all the difference.
He was using [Reinforcement], one of the most basic forms of magecraft a mage learns, but with enough practice and control, it became a powerful weapon. In his past life, Kazuya had mastered this art with absurd stubbornness, the kind you only see in players who swear they'll clear Fate without spending a single Saint Quartz. Though, in his past life as [Ritsuka Fujimaru], he only knew how to do it efficiently.
Now, he reinforced the muscles in his legs, the structure of his bones, the tendons in his arms. Every fiber of his body was amplified with almost surgical efficiency, thanks to his *Pioneer of the Stars: EX* skill, which turned him into a genius like Da Vinci-chan~. He should thank the Gacha for his current strength.
And as if that weren't enough, his current body wasn't exactly ordinary.
Reinforcement Technique? Check.
Basic Magecraft? Check.
Physical attributes on the level of Fafnir—the dragon that nearly destroyed Orleans with a sneeze?
Check, with emphasis.
In practice? Kazuya was moving like a divine-level hero with the brain of an otaku and the heart of an isekai protagonist.
Scáthach threw a palm strike that could've split an oak trunk. Kazuya spun his body to the side, the blow missing by millimeters. He countered with a direct punch, fast as lightning. She blocked with her forearm, her eyes widening slightly.
And then… she smiled.
"So you've learned some new tricks, and your muscles aren't just for show, it seems…"
"It's easier to get stronger in this world…" Kazuya said humbly, reacting quickly.
Right before nearly being sent into orbit by a sweep kick. He used the spin of the fall to regain balance, his feet automatically repositioning. *Foot Saint: A* glowed within him, and Kazuya felt—knew—this was his chance. He went on the attack. A jab, a hook, a cross. All blocked or dodged by Scáthach, but barely. Just barely. She was surprised. Amused. And maybe… proud.
Outside the dojo, the other Servants had gathered. Ereshkigal's mouth was agape. Ishtar crossed her arms, her gaze fixed and expression hard to read. Shuten watched with a dangerous smile on her lips. Skadi… Skadi seemed frozen inside. Her eyes were locked on Kazuya as if seeing a ghost.
"Since when can he fight like that?" Ereshkigal whispered.
"He's keeping up with Scáthach…" Ishtar murmured, incredulous.
"My, my…" Shuten said, her eyes narrowed with amusement. "Our Master is getting tastier."
Skadi said nothing, but watching her master and husband, she felt a certain pride.
Scáthach stepped back, her eyes locked on Kazuya, analyzing. He stopped too, breathing heavily, his body on full alert.
She took a step forward and smiled.
"You're better than I expected, Kazuya."
"Trained… between one reroll and another…" He replied with a tired smile, repositioning himself.
And then she advanced. And he met her.
Blows clashed. The sound of impacts echoed through the dojo like muffled thunder. Dodges, blocks, counterattacks. High speed. Movements so fast the eyes could barely follow.
Kazuya felt like he was dancing with her. Not as a student. Not as an amateur.
But as someone who, even for a brief moment, could keep up with her.
And in Scáthach's eyes, the glint from centuries ago, the one that appeared when she found someone truly worthy, returned with full force.
Kazuya felt his body pulse. Not just with adrenaline, but with something more. Something only those who'd spent too much time drowning in limited banners would understand.
He knew that feeling.
It was when you finally pulled the desired SSR after months of saving Saint Quartz and realized, yes, life has meaning. The universe doesn't hate you *that* much. The power of the Gacha can—on rare and mysterious occasions—smile upon you. He was just being dramatic because he wanted to activate another skill he'd received from Karna Santa.
*Shining Fist: A.*
A skill that reflected the result of Karna's grueling training under Parshurama, the ultimate martial arts master, combined with the spirit of sacrifice and kindness of a hero who delivered gifts in winter with a serene smile. Because, of course, Karna was so absurdly overpowered that even dressed as Santa, he could fight like a divine warrior.
And now, that skill flowed through Kazuya like a comet.
His body felt light. Lighter than ever before.
It was as if every weight, every physical limitation, every natural resistance to speed simply evaporated. The dojo around him seemed to fade for an instant. There was only him, Scáthach, and the sharp hum of magic vibrating in the air.
Then he moved.
And the light followed.
It was too fast for any ordinary eye. For an ordinary warrior, it would've been invisible. Even for Servants, the attack would've been a blur of light cutting through the space between them. But Scáthach wasn't ordinary. She saw.
Not the punch—that would be asking too much.
But the trail of light he left in the air, a golden flash that seemed to slice time like a divine sword.
It was like a blade strike. No hesitation. No wasted movement. With surgical precision and brutal force.
Kazuya hit Scáthach's stomach, who almost managed to react. The impact echoed like the muffled roar of thunder on the silent tatami.
Scáthach's eyes widened slightly. Her body slid back with a dry hiss, her soles touching the dojo floor firmly until she stopped, knees bent, body in a defensive stance.
She took a deep breath. The blow hurt. And that was… rare. Extremely rare.
But Kazuya didn't seem worried.
He just adjusted his stance, his fists still vibrating with the energy of the attack, his eyes fixed on her with seriousness. There was something almost reverent there. But only almost.
As for hitting a woman?
Please.
First, she was his *Shishou*. His master. The woman who had kicked him, broken his bones, forced him to fight monsters just to "warm up." This was practically therapy in the form of a beatdown.
Second, his fists were gender-neutral. They hit whoever was in front of him. Total equality. Learned from Kazuma-sama.
Scáthach touched her abdomen, feeling the point of impact.
She looked at him with intensity.
Not angry.
Not disappointed.
But… excited.
"You've really gotten stronger, Kazuya…" she murmured, her voice low and filled with restrained emotion.
"Had a good teacher…" he replied, sweat dripping down his temple, eyes steady.
Scáthach smiled. Slow. Dangerous.
When Scáthach smiled like that, with that murderous glint in her eyes, Kazuya knew he was screwed.
Not the "oh, I forgot to feed my Tamagotchi and it died" kind of screwed.
The "my immortal death master is about to shove a magical spear through my spleen just because I showed a bit of talent" kind.
And then she said:
"Time to see how much you've really grown."
And the dojo shook.
Literally.
The air vibrated around her. A red-hot rune glowed on the floor, expanding like a living mandala, charged with ancient, pure, merciless mana. The tatami floor smoked, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause to watch what was coming.
"Gáe Bolg," she murmured. The blood-colored spear materialized in her hand like a living memory of the underworld.
Kazuya swallowed hard.
Outside, silence turned to unease.
Ishtar uncrossed her arms.
"Wait, wait, wait… She summoned the spear?"
Ereshkigal was nearly biting her nails. "This isn't just a training game anymore…"
Shuten Douji raised her eyebrows. "Hoo… she really wants to see how much he can handle."
"Husband…" Skadi murmured, the air around her growing icy. Subtle. Almost imperceptible. Except for the snowflake floating slowly in the air. She was ready to intervene the moment things got out of control.
Inside, Kazuya faced his master.
Logic said to run.
Experience said to throw himself on the ground and pray to Merlin.
But stubbornness?
Stubbornness said it was time to shine.
"Foot Saint: A," he murmured.
And he moved.
Scáthach advanced with Gáe Bolg in hand.
The spear cut through the air like a shooting star, each thrust carrying the intent to kill or at least send someone to the magical ICU.
Kazuya dodged, spun, retreated, advanced. His hands blocked the spear's shaft, deflected the tip, countered with jabs, uppercuts, and spinning strikes. But range was the issue. She could keep her distance, toy with him like a cat with an armed mouse.
He needed to close in. He needed an opening.
Scáthach spun the spear and aimed a lateral strike.
Kazuya leaped over it, the air buzzing around him. A kick descended toward her shoulder, but she blocked with one hand and countered with a thrust that nearly pierced the tatami behind him when he dodged at the last second.
More exchanges. Direct, fast, brutal blows.
Kazuya used [Reinforcement] on every fiber of his body. Fists cloaked in energy, eyes focused, mind calculating her every possible move. His fists moved like Arjuna's arrows, swift and almost sacred. And Scáthach matched him with the grace of a predator.
Then, he felt it.
The chance.
She had shifted to adjust her balance, just for an instant, and he charged with everything.
Energy surged through his arm like a turbo-charged aurora borealis.
His feet glowed with Karna-Santa's power, and he crossed the distance like a divine bolt, faster than ever.
The light concentrated in his fist.
The blow was launched.
Scáthach, with widened eyes, raised Gáe Bolg in an instinctive reflex.
*CLAAANG!*
The spear blocked, but the impact was brutal. The energy spread in a golden arc that lit up the dojo. A boom echoed like bottled thunder being unleashed.
Scáthach was thrown back.
Yes, you heard right. Thrown.
She slid across the tatami like a leaf in a gale, her feet dragging, wood splinters flying where her heels scraped the floor. She only stopped when she hit the dojo wall and stabbed the spear into the ground to stabilize herself.
For a second, there was silence.
Kazuya held his stance. His fist still trembled with the reverberation of the blow. But there was pride in his eyes.
Scáthach rose slowly.
Her face was serious. But a smile was forming on her lips.
"You made me retreat, my student…"
"First time, huh?" he replied, panting.
She spun Gáe Bolg once and aimed it again.
"First of many, I hope."
Kazuya didn't smile. But something in his gaze said:
*Bring it, Shishou.*
And so, the duel resumed.
The metallic sound of impacts echoed like smaller thunderclaps. The dojo felt less like a training space and more like a sacred battlefield. Kazuya was sweating, panting, every inch of his body begging for rest. But he knew resting was asking to become spear sashimi.
Scáthach advanced with the precision and lethality of a homicidal AI algorithm. Each Gáe Bolg strike was a dance between life and death. It wasn't just strength. It was technique. It was fate bent to the will of a warrior goddess.
Kazuya moved in response, *Foot Saint: A* nearly burning under his feet, guiding him like a rhythmic dance of dodges and counterattacks. He blocked with his forearms, spun, retreated, threw small strikes to keep rhythm—all to maintain distance and split her attention.
A flurry of rapid thrusts came—seven in less than a second.
He dodged five.
Blocked the sixth.
Prepared a counter for the seventh—
—but she smiled.
And that's when everything went wrong.
Suddenly, a second spear appeared in her free hand, as if the very concept of "fair" had been tossed in the trash.
She spun the first, and with the second, delivered a lateral strike, bottom to top, aiming straight for his ribs.
Kazuya was caught off guard.
Time slowed. His mind, drowned in instinct and adrenaline, forced a decision. He couldn't retreat. He couldn't block with normal fists. No time to use a defensive skill.
So, he did the unthinkable.
His left arm moved on its own, instinctively.
And transformed.
Black, glossy, heavy scales like liquid obsidian formed in seconds, replacing flesh and bone with something ancient. Something draconic. Claws sprouted from his fingers, sharp as elven swords. When Gáe Bolg hit the arm, the sound was different. A muffled, dense *clang*. The spear slid across the scales as if trying to pierce a wall made of pure ancestral malice.
Kazuya slid back, his feet dragging across the tatami, leaving sparks on the floor.
The impact reverberated through his entire body. He knelt for a second, panting.
On the other side, Scáthach had stopped.
Her eyes were wide, and the second spear was slowly dissipating like dream smoke.
Outside, reactions were immediate.
Ishtar's eyes gleamed at Kazuya's dragon arm: "What was that?!"
Ereshkigal's eyes sparkled with various emotions: "He… he turned into a dragon?!"
Shuten Douji smiled as if she'd found the finest poison. "Interesting… very interesting…"
Skadi, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow, part of her wanting to see her beloved husband defeat her arrogant counterpart…
Kazuya stood, his arm still transformed. The pain was real, but the sensation was familiar. Like donning armor custom-made by a blacksmith who'd watched every episode of *Shingeki no Bahamut*.
Scáthach approached slowly, looking at the arm.
"What is that?" she asked, her voice a mix of surprise and… admiration?
Kazuya rolled his shoulder, feeling the weight of the scales. "This? Long story."
She raised an eyebrow. "Summarize."
He took a deep breath.
"It's the Third Magic."
Silence fell like a thunderbolt.
"When I died… I reached the Root. *That* Root. And somehow, it granted me the Third Magic—the one that lets you alter the soul."
He flexed his scaled fingers. "I found that by modifying my soul, I could shape my body. And I chose to make my soul… that of a dragon."
More specifically, he thought, Fafnir, the dragon cursed by gold, whom not even Siegfried killed on the first try. But that detail he saved for later.
The Servants exchanged glances.
"That's why you can sustain us here," Skadi said finally. "That's why you could summon me and keep so many of us active…"
Kazuya gave a half-smile.
"Bingo. The Third Magic gave me access to infinite magical energy…"
Scáthach looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. The spear trembled in her hand, but not from hesitation. It was… excitement. "You're no longer my ordinary student."
"I'm not," Kazuya said, returning to a fighting stance. "But I'm still the guy who wants to beat you with his own hands."
The glint in Scáthach's eyes returned with full force. She spun Gáe Bolg, and the floor trembled again.
The two quickly clashed.
The sound of spinning spears sliced the air like war propellers. If the dojo had seemed like a sacred battlefield before, it was now dangerously close to becoming a magical exclusion zone—the kind of place veteran mages enter with a will in hand.
Scáthach had summoned three spears now. Three. As if physics had decided to take a nap and let the warrior goddess play with hacks enabled.
She leaped with feline precision, the original Gáe Bolg in one hand, the Alternative in the other, and a third, made of pure runic energy, orbiting like a satellite of destruction. Ancient runes glowed around her feet and fists, altering space, boosting her speed, cushioning impacts against the dojo walls, which, frankly, had long passed their structural expiration date.
Kazuya knew he was at his limit.
Not the limit of physical exhaustion. But the shonen limit. The point where the protagonist starts hearing ending theme voices in the background and knows it's time to activate the transformation that spent all the skill points in the build.
"Alright… no more tests…" he murmured, his arm still covered in black scales. "Time to go full Saitama."
He inhaled deeply, and both arms erupted in transformation. The scales spread like waves of living ink up to his elbows. His veins pulsed with pure mana. This wasn't just a draconic soul anymore. It was pure power fanservice.
The floor cracked under his feet as he advanced, activating *Foot Saint: A* at the maximum level he could sustain. It wasn't Karna's level, of course. The solar hero was still a tier above, but now… now he was dangerously close to becoming a walking "anime power scaling" meme.
The exchanged blows were too fast for human eyes. Scáthach spun, leaped, cast dimensional-locking runes, and delivered spear strikes that seemed to teleport. But Kazuya was dancing with her, every dodge precise, every counterattack a life-or-death gamble.
The dojo shook.
The universe seemed to tilt.
And then—he felt it.
The moment.
The opening.
"Now."
He used *Shining Fist*.
The blow flew, faster, precise, with the brilliance of a star in combustion.
Scáthach blocked with one spear.
But the impact sent the Godslayer sliding back across the tatami, her runes dissipating like dust.
She smiled. "That was good."
"I haven't even started," Kazuya replied. And he played his final card.
*Strong Puncher: EX*
It wasn't a refined skill. It wasn't elegant. It wasn't "style."
It was raw power wrapped in pure instinct, honed by hours of martial arts anime, One Punch Man memes, and a lifetime of frustration with SSRs that never came—or, more specifically, Karna's skill that turned him into a Saitama in Fate.
The world stopped.
The fist glowed with pure power, not a glow of light, but a weight, a pressure that crushed the air around it as if reality were trying to avoid what was coming.
Scáthach prepared her spears. All of them.
But it was too late.
The punch came like a comet.
It crossed the space with a dry, muffled *thum* and hit the center of her stomach.
The impact reverberated like a contained sonic boom.
The walls trembled.
The ceiling groaned.
Scáthach was thrown back, landing on the tatami with a dull thud.
Silence.
For three seconds, no one breathed.
Then, Scáthach coughed. She rose, one hand on her stomach, panting, sweating. The spears vanished. The dojo seemed to relax like an animal that had survived winter.
She looked up. And smiled.
"You've truly grown, Kazuya. I admit defeat for now, but I still want to face you at your full power in a larger space…" She gestured to the dojo with its slightly cracked wood. "I'm proud of you as your teacher…"
Scáthach was still smiling.
She stood slowly, her body still feeling the impact of *Strong Puncher: EX*. The kind of blow that would make even Gilgamesh close his arrogance tab for a second.
Kazuya, meanwhile, stood in the middle of the tatami, his arms finally returning to normal. The scales receded like black waves fading into the sea of normalcy. He exhaled mana, sweat, and that unmistakable scent of someone who'd nearly been blown up by a warrior goddess who probably trained Hades himself in hand-to-hand combat.
He didn't even have time to think of a witty remark, like "This fight had more phases than a Soulslike boss," because Scáthach was already coming.
Firm steps. Fixed gaze. Slight tension in her shoulders, as if every muscle were still ready to dodge a counterattack… or something more intense.
Kazuya felt the air shift. The pressure of the fight was gone, but there was something else now. Something that couldn't be measured in runes or combat stats. Something not even *Eye of the Mind (True)* could predict.
She stopped in front of him. Looked into his eyes as if reading every page of the novel that was his soul. As if she saw not just the warrior, but the stubborn otaku, the improbable master, the survivor of summer banners.
Suddenly, with a swift and unexpected move, Scáthach's hand shot forward, grabbing the collar of Kazuya's tunic firmly. The thin fabric crumpled under her fingers as she pulled him closer, their faces now mere centimeters apart. Kazuya held his breath, the initial shock giving way to a rising wave of anticipation. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, the faint intoxicating scent that always surrounded her.
Scáthach's lips parted slightly, and he saw the glossy sheen of her mouth. Her eyes never left his, the intensity pinning him as if he couldn't look away even if he wanted to. The silence between them stretched, heavy with an unspoken promise, a mutual acknowledgment of the powerful attraction binding them.
Then, without warning, she kissed him.
It wasn't a gentle or hesitant touch, but an urgent, possessive collision of lips. Her mouth opened against his, inviting and demanding a response. Kazuya let out a soft moan, the sound lost in the meeting. He brought his hands to her waist, gripping her with the same intensity she held him.
Scáthach's tongue slipped into his mouth, exploring with a boldness that made him shudder. It was a wild, unapologetic kiss, a silent declaration of desire they'd both kept under control for too long. Her tongue brushed against his, an intimate, teasing contact that ignited a fire in his veins.
Kazuya returned the kiss with equal fervor, his own tongue meeting hers in a passionate dance. He could taste her, an intoxicating mix of spices and something wilder, untamed, like Scáthach herself. The kiss deepened, growing more urgent and needy, their breaths mingling as they clung to each other as if afraid to let go.
When she finally pulled back, her eyes still half-lidded, a smile curled her lips.
"That was the prize for your victory…" she whispered, her voice low, almost a satisfied predator's purr.
Kazuya blinked. Tried to speak. But his brain was processing the event like a special CG cutscene. And he was just the player, trying to figure out how the protagonist had just unlocked the Immortal Godslayer Onee-san route. But he still hadn't let go of Scáthach's waist.
In the background, a dull thud sounded.
Ishtar had dropped a juice bottle.
Ereshkigal was frozen, her face red as a magical lava lamp.
Shuten-Douji laughed. "I knew this would happen. Just thought it'd be after the next training session."
Skadi crossed her arms, serious. But the glint in her eyes said otherwise. "My counterpart got ahead again…"
The voices of the other Servants made Kazuya freeze. He'd forgotten about them… His habit of forgetting important things had become dangerous…
"Okay, Kazuya. Breathe. You've survived impossible raids, the Russian Lostbelt, and even SSR-less banners. You can handle this… right?"
Wrong.
Because now he stood in the middle of a partially destroyed dojo, still holding Scáthach's waist, his lips freshly christened by a kiss that would rewrite the lore of any visual novel. And all the other Servants were watching. Watching intensely.
The kind of look that could lead to hugs… or Noble Phantasms.
Ishtar was the first to move, crossing her arms so tightly her bracelets nearly activated Second Babylon. The vein on her forehead pulsed like an Elden Ring hidden boss about to be unleashed by a glitch.
"PRIZE?! Since when are kisses battle rewards? Because if that's the case, I have a huge list of achievements you should acknowledge, Kazuya!"
She was flushed to the tips of her hair. But her eyes were steady. Glowing. Like when an enemy archer activates their NP despite your 300k-defense Mash ready. A look that said: *Try ignoring me, and you'll find out what it's like to be hit by every Archer NP at once.*
Ereshkigal was still frozen but now with her hands clasped over her chest. Hearing her sister, she quickly spoke up: "I-I want a moment like that too… Not that I'm… comparing or jealous or… ugh, forget it!"
Shuten-Douji, meanwhile, gave the boy a mischievous look.
Scáthach-Skadi walked forward with calm steps, an icy aura enveloping her like a storm about to break. The frost in her eyes melted just enough for Kazuya to feel the sting of jealousy hidden beneath her serenity.
"I'm glad my other version expressed her feelings so… clearly." She stopped beside him, arms still crossed, her cloak fluttering lightly. "But I won't fall behind either…"
Without a word, Skadi raised her hand, her cold fingers lightly brushing Kazuya's face. The icy touch sent a pleasant shiver down his spine, a stark contrast to the heat of Scáthach's earlier kiss. He felt her piercing gaze, as if she were searching for something deep within him, beyond the surface.
Then, she leaned in, and her lips met his.
Skadi's kiss was different from her counterpart's. It wasn't wild or possessive but deep and steady, like the winter she embodied. Her lips were firm yet gentle, pressing against his with surprising tenderness. There was no immediate rush of tongue, just a soft sealing, a silent, meaningful acknowledgment.
Slowly, Skadi's mouth opened slightly, inviting Kazuya to join her. He hesitated for a moment, still processing the avalanche of events, but the firmness of her lips and the intense glint in her eyes urged him on. He returned the kiss, parting his own lips and letting the connection deepen.
Skadi's tongue slipped inside, meeting his with surprising softness. It was a cool touch, yet strangely comforting, like the first snow blanketing the earth. The kiss wasn't urgent but exploratory, as if she were mapping new territory, learning every curve and contour.
Kazuya felt a lump in his throat. There was a purity in this kiss, a disarming sincerity that hit him differently from Scáthach's overwhelming passion. It was like being enveloped in an icy calm, a silent promise of protection and care.
He brought his hands to her arms, feeling the cold fabric of her robes under his fingers. The kiss continued, slow and steady, a silent exchange of feelings words couldn't express. There was an unexpected sweetness in her tongue's touch, a contrast to the coldness surrounding her.
When Skadi finally pulled back, her lips were slightly red, and her eyes remained fixed on Kazuya's. A faint blush colored her pale cheeks, a subtle sign of the moment's intensity.
"I, too, have my own ways of expressing the feelings you taught me, my husband," she said, her voice low and soft as the whisper of wind over ice. There was an underlying firmness in her words, a quiet determination not to be left behind.
Meanwhile, Kazuya just wanted to lie down, stare at the ceiling, and rethink every life decision that led to this moment.
But, of course, the chaos wasn't over.
Ishtar was already opening her mouth to protest again, Ereshkigal looked ready to faint from nerves, Shuten-Douji laughed like she was watching the most anticipated episode of the season, and Scáthach… well, she just raised an eyebrow and shot a provocative look at her counterpart.
"At least the taste is still the same, Goddess?"
Skadi smiled back, cold and dignified.
"Refined as always…"
Kazuya had only one coherent thought as he clung to his sanity on hard mode:
*I just wanted a normal morning.*
But no, of course not. He was the protagonist. The master. The survivor of summer banners. And now, the recipient of two kisses from two versions of Scáthach.
What could go wrong, right?
(The answer, of course, was: absolutely everything.)